Hands
by crazymac
Summary: Drabble. The hands are the landscape of the heart, and communicate what lies within. Alexander clings to the hands of Hephaestion, for they anchor him to the earth.


Hands

_What did my hands do before they held you?_

_-Sylvia Plath_

Hands are one of the physiological characteristics that most differentiates humans from their more lowly animal counterparts. They have the ability to grasp, clutch, and carry; the ability to hold.

But this part of the human anatomy goes beyond those physical functions. They are used in far more emotional aspects. They fold in prayer, sway in dance, and clench in fights.

But most importantly, the hands are used to love. They grip the hands of another; they caress faces, and draw out moans.

Hephaestion's hands have meant so many different things to Alexander.

When they were boys, Phai's hands were small and soft; always covered in dust, sticky from a messy meal, or caked in mud. Dirt was constantly crusted under his fingernails. They were used to poke Alexander's sides to get his attention and push him after a teasing jest. After the loud declaration of a game of tag, those hands could, with a single touch, magically transform him into "It". These tiny appendages assisted him in mischievous endeavors, boosted him up into tall trees, and helped him dig deep holes for no real reason.

But as little boys change, so do their hands. Soon Hephaestion's hands gripped long sticks that clashed violently against others held in Alexander's hands, as the two boys played 'battle', completely ignorant of the true horrors of war. These fingers grabbed and pulled at Xander's skin as they wrestled, training to become great warriors. They also slid around his shoulders; comforting him when reality became overwhelming. And soon Phai's hands were slipping quietly and easily into Alexander's own. At first for support and reassurance, then because in just felt right, and finally because that was where they belonged.

Alexander watched those hands grow. The fingers lengthened and lost their baby-fat as adolescence dawned on the two's horizon. Now those particular hands grasped real swords and pointed knowledgably at maps as the boys learned the finer points of being soldiers. But though the hands had grown, they were still young, and trembled slightly as they reached out slowly to touch Xander's face and pull it gently to their owner's for the first time.

The hands soon learned confidence though. They grew thick and strong. Calluses covered the skin that had in some distant past been so smooth. But Alexander loved those calluses. They scraped wonderfully against his skin as Hephaestion's touch set trails of fire blazing down his flesh. Those hands explored his body. They memorized it. They learned how to touch, how to feel, how to love. Those fingers splayed out over his back and dug desperately into his arms.

The battle scarred hands of a man had blossomed from the chubby clutches of a child. But despite the horrors that they had witnessed, despite the marks that covered them; those hands could never loose the gentleness and tenderness that they possessed. They still reached out to brush back Alexander's golden hair and trace his soft lips.

Hephaestion's hands had a strange control over Xander. They gently rested on his shoulders to calm an angered King. They pressed firmly to his chest to tell him that he had gone too far.

Alexander had also watched his Phai's hands clench in silent rage at the vicious jibes of his comrades; most of which Hephaestion endured because of Alexander and his love for those hands and the man that possessed them.

But despite this; despite those brief flashes of anger, the love that these hands contained never failed to return and was never tainted. They would still flicker out to ever so slightly graze Alexander's own hands, a silent _'I love you'_ in a crowded room.

Alexander prays everyday that he gets to watch those hands continue to age; that he is able to see them grow knobby and wrinkled. He prays that he might grip them in his equally antiqued hands one day.

He is sure that if he lost those hands he would not know what to do with his own. For without them he would have nothing to hold onto. And without something to cling to and nothing clinging to him; life would become a vast mistake.

**~Fin~**

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><p><strong>Just a quick little something that had been banging around in my head for awhile. Nothing epic but I would love your feedback nonetheless!<strong>

**Reviews=Sunshine, rainbows, and smiles!**

**xxcrazymacxx**


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